


hollow

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [37]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 22:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10260638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Have you ever felt like, hollow?” Robbie asks, too tired to prevaricate. “Like something just came in and scooped everything out of you?”Matty, bless his heart, looks like he’s thinking very hard, carefully cataloging his whole life before he answers. “I don’t think so,” he says finally.





	

It doesn’t take a single word from his mother to get Robbie crying, unless you count ‘Hello?’, but if he needed one, ‘Roberto’, gentle and sad sounding, well, that would do the fucking trick. As it is ‘Roberto’ gets him sobbing silently, hands shaking so much he can barely keep his phone shoved to his ear, tight as he can get it, like something bad will happen if he doesn’t hear his mamma.

It takes awhile to cry himself out. A limbo of his mamma’s voice, soft, saying nothing, really, just ‘shh, shh’, even though Robbie’s barely making a sound, choking himself on the lump in his throat.

“Do you want me to come?” his mother asks, before she asks him anything else. “I can get on a plane tonight, be there for your game tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” Robbie says. “Not unless we get to third round, I told you.”

“What happened, topolino?” she asks, then, “You don’t have to tell me,” when Robbie doesn’t say anything.

“It’s just,” Robbie says. “It’s just Georgie. It’s always fucking—”

He waits for her to chide him for his language, but she doesn’t, which means it’s code fucking red. She chided him when he blew up because his fucking _father_ hid like a little bitch because he was afraid to look his gay son in the eye, but this? Nada. Not a word.

“What happened?” she repeats, and Robbie thinks of how he’d try to explain that whole twisted fucking mess in some mother friendly way. It makes him want to laugh.

“I can’t—” Robbie says.

“Okay,” she says, like he’s answered the question. Maybe he has. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come? It isn’t a problem.”

“I’m fine,” Robbie says.

She makes a doubtful noise. “Do you have somewhere to go?” she asks.

“I’m in my apartment,” Robbie says.

“I mean somewhere else,” she says. “Maybe you should have some company right now.”

“People keep saying that,” Robbie says. Well, Georgie said that. Robbie wonders where Georgie is now, but then, he’s not really spoiled for choice, is he? Probably sitting all by himself in a sublet Robbie’s never seen, didn’t want to. Maybe calling his mom at work and telling her all about what Robbie fucking did this time, how it’s over for real now. Telling her either the whole sordid fucking story, or just the latest if he updated her about whatever the fuck was going on with them in the first place, skirting the dirty details. Georgie used to tell his mom everything, at least the Cliffs-notes version, but. Who knows. Robbie doesn’t know the guy anymore. 

“It isn’t good to be alone when you feel sad,” his mother says.

“I don’t feel—” Robbie starts, but who’s he fucking kidding, he just cried like a fucking baby for fuck knows how long. He isn’t though, or — not just sad. That’s too simple. He can’t even begin to describe how he’s feeling right now, has no interest in trying.

“Elliott lives a few blocks away, right?” his momma asks.

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “I’ll probably head over there.”

“Why don’t you go now,” she says. “I’ll stay on the line, keep you company.”

As far as forcing him goes, she isn’t even trying to be subtle, but it does get Robbie putting his shoes on, his coat. She tells him about all the Lombardi news, immediate and extended, and Robbie doesn’t say much, doesn’t really manage anything but grunts, but he’s grateful for the distraction.

“I’m here,” Robbie says, when he reaches Matty’s front porch.

“Okay,” she says. “I love you.”

“You too,” Robbie says.

Wheels answers the door after a minute, squints at him with a look that makes Robbie feel uncomfortable.

“Matty ran to the grocery store,” Wheels says.

“What, I can’t be here to see you?” Robbie asks. Matty may be the bestie, but Wheels was his partner for over a year. He thinks he might be hurt, if there was anywhere left inside him to put it.

“You know that’s not it,” Wheels says. “You just look kind of—”

He stops there, and Robbie’s relieved, because he doesn’t want to know what Wheels was going to say. 

“Come in,” Wheels says. “You want something to drink? Water? Gatorade?”

“I’m good,” Robbie says, throwing his coat on the rack and kicking his shoes off because Wheels is particular about that, and Matty pretends not to care but totally does.

“Did you want to, um,” Wheels says. “You want to talk about—”

Robbie shakes his head quickly, and Wheels looks relieved. Robbie would be offended, but in Dougie’s place he’d feel the exact same thing. 

“I was getting dinner ready,” Wheels says. “If you wanted to come to the kitchen or something…”

“I’ll chill in the living room, if that’s cool,” Robbie says. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Wheels says. “Matty left awhile ago, he should be back any minute now.”

“Okay,” Robbie says, and goes to the couch, sits up straight, rigid, even though the couch is deep, hard not to sink into.

“You sure you—” Wheels says.

“I’m good, Dougie, really,” Robbie says. The smile he attempts just makes Wheels grimace, but he disappears into the kitchen without asking again, which is all Robbie needs.

Matty’s back within literal minutes, which is good, because every sound from the kitchen has Robbie jumping, like Wheels is going to come out and — what, Robbie? What the fuck is Wheels going to do? 

“Got the squash!” Matty announces when he comes in, then, still in the front hall, “Hi Robbie!”

Robbie jumps again, vaguely freaked out, but his shoes and coat are out there, so it’s not a huge mystery how Matty knows he’s here.

“Hi,” Robbie says, and it comes out scratchy hoarse, like he’s been yelling all day. 

Matty pops his head into the living room, already frowning. “Let me get this to Wheels and we can talk, okay?”

“Who said—” Robbie starts, but Matty’s already on his way to the kitchen.

“Here or my room?” Matty asks when he comes back in.

“Um,” Robbie says. He’s never cried in front of Dougie — that goes both ways — and he doesn’t want that to start now. On the other hand, he’s a hell of a lot less likely to burst into fucking tears if he knows Dougie’s a room away. “Want to watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” Matty says, and gives him the remote so easy it just serves as further confirmation he knows Robbie’s a fucking mess.

They get halfway through Miracle, which is pure comfort, before Wheels comes out of the kitchen holding a plastic bag like a shield.

“I’m just — I’m bringing dinner over to Lauren’s,” Wheels says. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to —” Robbie says, because no way he made food here just to bring it to his girlfriend’s.

“No worries,” Wheels says. “I made tons, so there should be enough left for you guys. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Dougie,” Matty says.

“Um, feel better, Bardi,” Wheels says, clapping Robbie awkwardly on the shoulder. 

“What’d you say?” Robbie says the second the door closes after Wheels.

“I didn’t say anything,” Matty says, then when Robbie glares at him, “Just that maybe he should head to Lauren’s instead of her coming here. Nothing else, I promise. Dinner?”

Robbie’s not hungry, but you don’t say no when Wheels cooked. “Fine,” he says, and Matty, thankfully, lets him get through dinner and back on the couch, Miracle switched for the Habs-Sens game, before he starts on the questions.

Or, question. Not even a question proper, just a proper noun.

“Georgie?” Matty asks.

“Am I that predictable?” Robbie asks, but regrets it, because the answer’s probably yes. Thankfully, Matty doesn’t say anything, because Matty’s the bigger person, literally _and_ emotionally.

“I think it’s over?” Robbie says. “Like. Really over.”

“That’s good, right?” Matty asks. “I mean, that’s what you wanted.”

“Sure, yeah,” Robbie says. “That’s what I wanted.”

Matty doesn’t say anything.

“I just—” Robbie says, doesn’t finish.

“Just what?” Matty asks.

“I don’t know,” Robbie says. “Lapointe or Riley?”

“Huh?” Matty asks.

“Which one would you screw?” Robbie asks.

“I’m straight,” Matty says, his automatic answer whenever these questions come about. He always answers anyway. “I mean, if it’s a threesome…”

“I love you, Elliott Matthews,” Robbie says fervently, and Matty throws an arm around him, tugs him in. Robbie doesn’t pay much attention to the game after. He keeps his face in Matty’s shoulder. It smells like detergent, probably fabric softener too, because his mom got him young on the whole laundry thing. Robbie half listens to the commentary, because distraction isn’t a bad thing right now, sure as shit better than staying in his own head.

“You’re falling asleep,” Elliott says, sometime late in the third.

“I’ll head home,” Robbie says reluctantly.

“Stay over,” Matty says. 

“Your couch is literal murder,” Robbie says. He has no idea how something so comfortable to sit on can turn into a torture device the moment you go horizontal. “I have to play tomorrow. Preferably without a twisted spine.”

“Dougie’s bed is free,” Matty says.

“Feels weird,” Robbie says.

“He’ll be fine with it, but I can double check,” Matty says.

“Dude, there’s a zero percent chance he hasn’t fucked in that bed since the sheets were changed,” Robbie says. “No thanks.”

“So sleep in my bed,” Matty says. “There’s room for both of us.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this step in our relationship,” Robbie says. “And you deserve more than to be a rebound, Elliot.”

Matty snorts. “Come on, dork,” he says. “I’ll let you pick which side and everything.”

He sleeps smack in the middle of the bed by default, so that’s not actually all that generous. Or maybe it’s extra generous. Robbie doesn’t know.

“Can I be the big spoon?” Robbie asks.

“You can _try_ ,” Matty says, hand in the middle of Robbie’s back, and Robbie doesn’t realize he’s being herded until he’s in front of Matty’s bedroom door. “I’ll go get you some sweats from Dougie’s room, okay?”

“You saying I wouldn’t fit in yours?” Robbie asks. “That what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Matty says.

“Well,” Robbie says. “Fair.”

Matty comes in with a bundle of clothes, changing into one of his thousands of pairs of plaid pjs while Robbie puts on Wheels’ shit, which is only a little too big for him. It’s early, but Robbie’s exhausted. He would be anyway, honestly, with the playoff grind everyone’s going to bed at the same time as Robbie’s octogenarian nonna, but if Robbie thought about it, he would have figured he’d be up for hours, lump in his throat and sting in his eyes. As it is, he’s asleep before Matty hits the lights.

*

Robbie wakes up early. He’s not sure what time it is, other than before the alarm, but somehow he knows he shouldn’t be up yet even with his eyes still shut, registers that at the same time he registers breath ruffling his hair, an arm slung over his side. He tucks himself back into the warmth of it before stilling, heart suddenly going double-time.

 _You’re not supposed to let Georgie stay over_ , is his first thought, before he opens his eyes and realizes it’s Matty’s room, Matty’s arm, before he remembers why he’s there. There’s a feeling that comes clawing its way up his throat before he can stop it, like nausea but worse, because it isn’t the kind of thing you can just get rid of, isn’t the sort of thing you can purge with a retch. He knows it well. It’s been living in him for years. Just because it goes quiet sometimes doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Robbie sits up, rubs a hand over his face, like that’ll help contain it, like it’s possible to.

“Bardi?” Matty asks through a yawn.

“I told you I wanted to be the big spoon,” Robbie says, trying to sound light.

“It’s not even five-thirty,” Matty groans a moment later, presumably after checking his phone. “I’ll let you be the big spoon if you lie down.”

“Okay,” Robbie says. He won’t sleep, he doesn’t think, but it’s better than awkwardly wandering around Matty and Dougie’s place while Matty sleeps, feeling like an intruder, or, worse, going home and counting down the hours until he has to be at the Verizon Center.

Matty rolls over when Robbie lies back down, obediently turning his back, and Robbie hides his face against his shirt, a threadbare one Robbie thinks they got at Rookie Camp that first year, when Robbie was trying out once again and Matty breezed through the whole thing like the first rounder royalty he was, took everything in stride like it was easy. Robbie’d resented him all through that, for being a giant, for being as good as he was, for being so fucking _nice_ it put his teeth on edge. He’d driven Robbie nuts.

Fuck, Robbie doesn’t know what he’d do without him. 

“Thank you,” Robbie says. “For, you know.”

Matty’s quiet so long that Robbie figures he’s fallen back asleep. “Any time,” Matty says, reaching back and patting Robbie’s side. “Now sleep.”

Robbie tries to, he really does. He tries to tucked against Matty, he tries to with his back to Matty’s, he tries to flat on his back when it gets too hot. His fingers itch for his phone, even though he doesn’t know what he’d say, knows he shouldn’t say anything. Wants to see if Georgie’s awake too, the grappling with the same feeling trapped inside him. If he’s sleeping like a baby now that he’s freed himself of the weight of Robbie clinging to him, unsure if he’s using him as a life preserver or trying to drag him down under right with him. 

Though sleeping like a baby means you’re not getting through a whole night and you wake up crying, so. Maybe Robbie’s closer to that one than Georgie is, though the tears are gone, hopefully for good. 

He gives up on sleep sometime after the sun rises, gives up on lying down when his phone buzzes in his jeans and he’s across the room like a bullet, taking it into the hall. It’s his mom, texting that there’s a noon flight with seats still available and to let her know if he changes his mind, and he texts her not to bother while making coffee, because if he’s crashing he may as well make himself useful.

Matty comes out of his room when Robbie’s on his second cup, looks so zombie tired Robbie takes pity on him and pours him a cup without him asking, doctors it the way he likes it. Matty inhales it, only drops the mug when it’s empty. 

“You sleep at all?” Matty asks, and frowns when Robbie shakes his head. “How’re you feeling?”

“Have you ever felt like, hollow?” Robbie asks, too tired to prevaricate. “Like something just came in and scooped everything out of you?”

Matty, bless his heart, looks like he’s thinking very hard, carefully cataloging his whole life before he answers. “I don’t think so,” he says finally.

Robbie tries not to resent that answer, to just be happy that Matty hasn’t, but it’s hard. “Well,” Robbie says. “I guess that’s how I’m feeling.”

“Like…nothing?” Matty asks.

“Kind of,” Robbie says. “Not really.” There’s still something in him, it just isn’t _his_ , that creeping, scratching, ugly feeling that’s curled up in the pit of his stomach. 

“Anything I can do?” Matty asks.

Robbie shrugs.

Matty considers. “Can I give you a hug?” he asks.

Robbie shrugs again, which Matty clearly takes as a yes, and he wraps Robbie up in one of those Matty hugs that go on forever, that you disappear inside of. It’s a good feeling right now, to disappear, to do it in a way that’d be claustrophobic, maybe, if it wasn’t for the steady beat of Matty’s heart under Robbie’s cheek, a standard.

If Matty had a standard it’d probably as fucking plaid as his PJs. Loser. 

Matty pats his back a few times before letting go of him, and Robbie’s tempted to ask him to come back, but that’s not fair.

“Feel better?” Matty asks.

“Sure,” Robbie says, which is true, but he’s pretty sure that it’s temporary, that the moment he sees Georgie again it’s all going to collapse into nothing. “All better,” he says, and forces a smile.


End file.
